Jessie was the first to arrive. The music hadn’t even started. An organiser fumbled with a PowerPoint presentation, letting out frustrated groans and heavy sighs. A TV screen remained resolutely blank. Any other day, she would offer to help the woman, but she couldn’t trust herself to jump in. What if she screwed it up even more? ’Cause if there was one thing she was famous for, it was ruining things for everyone.

Instead, Jessie hunched in the back pew. Sunlight played through stained-glass windows, turning dust motes into glitter. She had attended the church only a handful of times in her nineteen years. Midnight mass a few Christmases ago. Her neighbours’ wedding. A christening. Never a funeral. Until today.

An epic display of puffy white hydrangeas dominated the front of the chapel. It took her a moment to figure out that the arrangement resembled a life-size pony. Whoever created it must’ve been the Michelangelo of floristry. Impressive, but not enough to draw her eyes away from the familiar body resting on creamy satin.

It was her first time seeing a dead person in the flesh. The make-up artist did a bang-up job creating a natural complexion. The lips were toffee-apple red. Thick, false eyelashes looked like butterfly wings. She half expected them to start flapping and take flight. But the brows reminded her of a Sesame Street character. Ernie? No, Bert. Not a monobrow, but bushy.

Jessie studied the body’s glossy, dark hair. She was willing to bet the funeral home used industrial-strength products to tame those curls.

If it were up to her, she would’ve cut back on opulent pillows and lacy bedding. The cost-of-living crisis also impacted the cost of dying. Creature comforts were wasted on the dead. She supposed it helped those left behind, reassuring them that their loved ones would rest in peace for eternity. Jessie sure didn’t intend to spend her afterlife in a closed box, whether it was lined with goose feathers and cashmere or not.

She sat straighter as a young man in torn jeans and a raglan T-shirt came out of nowhere and approached the tech-challenged organiser. He touched the woman’s right hand. The screen blinked into life. After a second or two, indie-pop music flowed softly over the speakers. It was one of Jessie’s favourite songs. A bit obscure. Ethereal and moody. One hundred per cent perfect.

The organiser swiped her brow and chuckled with relief. She hurried off to her next task without so much as a nod of thanks to the young man. When he turned towards the coffin, Jessie gasped.

“Will?” Her strained voice could not have been louder than a whisper, but it attracted her friend’s attention.

He smiled, but his dark eyes were sad and haunted-looking. Of course. This was a funeral, not the opening night of Wicked. Jessie allowed herself a judgy moment. Will could have at least worn a suit or dark colours. His bright green sneakers were obnoxious.

As if hearing her thoughts, Will frowned at her. He walked away, disappearing behind the hydrangea horse.

Jessie reached for the golden horse pendant on her necklace to help soothe a surge of anxiety. On the TV, a grey mare galloped along an endless beach, nostrils flared, tail high. Horses were the theme of the day. She approved.

Still, her stress level would not budge. She hasn’t seen Will since the night of the accident. After that, time meant nothing. It sped up and slowed down without warning, so she gave up looking at clocks or calendars. How she made it to the chapel on the right day, she’ll never understand.

Mourners drifted up the aisle. The number of people surprised her, given the circumstances. Jessie convinced herself they would stay away. Most wore sunglasses and spoke in respectful, muted tones. Wrapped in grief, they were oblivious to the tears that slid down Jessie’s face. One drop at a time. One cheek at a time.

The last person she expected to see was her oldest friend, Lauren Mortimer. They’d drifted apart in the past few years. Yet there she was. Alone and looking as fragile as a baby sparrow in a dark cape dress. Jessie’s gaze raked over Lauren’s ebony pillbox hat. A dramatic net covered the upper half of her face. Her pink lips pressed together tightly. She clutched a program in one hand and, in the other, a mauve leather bag adorned with an oversized couture logo.

 Typical Lauren. Never one to pass up the chance to outshine the bride at every wedding. Or the corpse at every funeral.

She looked every inch the social media influencer. Lauren kept her head down, not acknowledging or talking to anyone, and found a seat on the second pew. Jessie waited for Lauren to pull out her phone and snap selfies or stream a live video. To her credit, Lauren stayed in the moment, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue every now and then.

As Jessie focused on Lauren, she could swear she heard her friend’s voice.

“I can’t believe you’re gone. I was such a selfish, obnoxious, absent friend, and now I’ll never be able to make it up to you. I’m going to do better from now on. For you.”

Before she knew it, Jessie found herself by Lauren’s side. Gently, she touched her friend’s hand. Lauren stiffened, then began to relax. She breathed a sigh and studied the funeral program.

Satisfied, Jessie returned to her seat and watched more arrivals. A mourner across the chapel caught Jessie’s eye, and not just because of her outlandish purple dress. Though, side note: Jessie adored the strong hue. No, something about the woman reminded her of Gramma June. Was it the graceful way she moved her arms? Or the kindness in her wide hazel eyes? This woman looked youthful. Thirties maybe. Gramma was eighty-five when she passed. But the mourner’s presence was enough to calm Jessie’s nerves.

She needed all the help she could get, because Jessie's parents were next to file in. Their grief pulsed through the church and tore at her soul. Her older sister, Lucia, trailed them, her shoulders slumped despite years of dressage competition. She walked hesitantly, dragging her feet as if they were made of concrete. Jessie wanted to run to her family and squeeze them, comfort them. Famously, they weren’t open to ghosts or anything mystical. Plus, Jessie couldn’t bear to get close enough to hear her dad whimper.

The Gramma lookalike glanced over at Jessie. Briefly, her features morphed from youthful hottie to distinguished octogenarian. She was no Doppelgänger.

“Gramma? What are you doing here?” Jessie whispered.

Gramma glided to Jessie and put a reassuring hand on her arm. “Wild horses couldn’t keep me away.”

Jessie stifled a sob. “I can’t tell you how much I’ve missed you.”

“Oh, I do know. I’ve popped in on you every now and then since I crossed over. I’m so proud of how good you were to your family, how well you did at school.”

Sniffling, Jessie said, “I started volunteering in the dementia care unit.”

Gramma smiled. “You did that in my name. It meant a lot to me. Not to mention the residents. You lit up their lives.”

“I did some stupid things too.” Jessie’s head dipped.

“Live and learn. That’s what we’re here to do, sweetheart.”

“The party’s over now,” Jessie said flatly, thinking of her final day. Parts of it were hazy. She’d gone to an afternoon get-together that dragged into the night. Someone – she wasn’t sure who – decided it’d be fun to play truth or dare.

When it was Jessie’s turn, she chose dare. No way was she going to spill her guts to everyone. She remembered jumping into a convertible, her best friend beside her, and revving the engine. An adrenaline surge. Speeding through a tunnel. Feeling the wind blasting her face. And then nothing. Darkness. The wind died.

She died.

Her guts spilled anyway. Literally.

Pushing the memory away, she focused on her family. She hoped they were spared from seeing the extent of her injuries. Judging by her mum’s haunted expression, maybe she had. She was a doctor. She would have insisted on having a look, even though there was nothing she could’ve done to bring Jessie back to life.

“Would you like to sit with them?” Gramma asked. “It might help them. And you.”

Jessie felt anchored to the spot. “I can’t. Not now. Maybe after the service.”

My entire family must be so disappointed in me for dying like this, she thought. None of them would be sitting in the church today if she hadn't been so careless.

Jessie had already found a way to visit them in their dreams, to let them know she was alright. She hoped they found some comfort in her words. Then again, her dad always claimed that he never dreamed. At least, he couldn’t remember his dreams.

“Do whatever’s right for you. No one’s judging you.” Gramma June nodded sympathetically before making her way to Jessie’s mother.

A masculine voice spoke softly nearby. “I don’t blame you, Jess. Watching my mum say goodbye was the hardest bit.”

Startled, Jessie looked up.

“Welcome to the departure lounge.” Will bowed grandly.

“Am I supposed to laugh or cry at that lame joke?”

“Your funeral, your choice. I know which one I’d pick.” He smiled and stood in front of the windows. A multicoloured aura throbbed around him from head to foot. “I wondered at first why you didn’t come to my funeral, then I realised what happened.”

“I died in the accident.” Jessie gulped. “I’m sorry I didn’t go to your service.”

She tried to recall why she didn’t attend her best friend’s funeral. The days following her death felt like a dream, where a random thought could teleport her to another time or location. At one point, she relived her first day of primary school, learning to print her name on a big sheet of butcher’s paper.

“There’s nothing to forgive.” Will gestured at the empty space beside her. “Can I sit with you?”

“Go for your life.” She chuckled weakly as he breezed past and settled down. Despite everything going on, all she could think about was Will’s outfit. “Couldn’t you have dressed up a bit for this occasion?”

He scoffed. “Why? You didn’t.”

Jessie looked down at her black skinny jeans and embroidered boho top – the same outfit she wore the night of the fatal stunt. At least her Birkenstock straps were the shiny gold kind. Vegan too. “Are we allowed to change outfits? Or are we doomed to be dorks forever?” 

“I think that’s something we’ll learn as we go.” He shrugged. “And for the record, I’m not a dork. These sneakers were three hundred dollars.”

Chuckling, she said, “I wouldn’t brag about that.”

The priest made his way to the altar. Jessie slid down and cringed. She had no business being at her funeral.

Jessie fidgeted. “Do we have to stick around? It’s hard to be surrounded by all this sadness.”

“Whether you’re alive or dead, funerals aren’t easy to get through.” He bit his lower lip. “But think of it this way, everyone’s here because they loved you.”

“Loved. Look at you, already using past tense,” Jessie said wryly. She gave Will a sidelong glance. “I saw the way you helped with the tech glitches. Thanks, by the way. Just how did you reach enlightenment so quickly?”

“I’m feeling my way through things, same as you.” He jiggled his arm. Somehow, even without a physical body, she could sense his elbow digging into her side. “Hey, your funeral is starting. I reckon it’s gonna be a nice service.”

Jessie winced. She reckoned he was right.

A solemn hymn sounded through the chapel. The music should have calmed Jessie, but the longer it went on, the more anxious she grew. Jessie’s hand reached again for her horse-head pendant, her touchstone. She could no longer feel its smooth ridges or cool onyx eye, but old habits die hard.

Will leaned in, his brow wrinkled. “How are you going, Jess? Okay? Considering?”

“I’m worried about what people will say.”

“You never cared before.” He pointed at the flowery text on the TV screen. “See that? ‘Celebrating the life of Jessica West’. Nobody’s here to roast you, and if they do, I’ll use my powers to chuck ’em out.”

 Jessie’s jaw dropped. “We have powers now?”

“Yep. If you count being able to walk through walls a superpower.”

“Oh, so now it’s a superpower.”

“What do you call it?”

“Being a ghost?” As soon as the words came out, Jessie started to cry. She cried even harder when Will produced a purple hanky out of thin air. “Sorry. I’m not used to being on the other side.”

“This is why funerals are an important part of the grieving process. It’s about acceptance and letting go. You and your loved ones reflect on life and what a gift it is to love and be loved.”

“Beautiful sentiments, O afterlife guru,” she said, casting him an admiring look.

“I prefer the term angel. Sounds less cult-y.” Will laughed. “But before you get me fitted with wings, you should know I was paraphrasing the eulogy my brother gave.”

“Riley was always the smarter one out of the two of you,” teased Jessie. Then she glanced towards the altar, where her small family huddled. They clung to each other for support.

“If there were one word to describe Jessie, it would be ‘adventurous,’” began her mother in a strong voice. Jessie, however, detected a note of frailty that splintered her heart. “But why stop at one word? She was thoughtful, loving, hilarious, driven…”

Driven? For real, Mum?

Either her mother had somehow forgotten her cause of death, or her bizarre sense of humour was off the leash again.

A string of flattering adjectives continued pouring from her mum’s lips, but they were all wrong to Jessie. She didn’t deserve to be remembered as a good person. Jessie felt the room spin. If she had a pulse, it would be galloping.

“I can’t do this.” She bolted outside without a backward glance.

Footsteps followed Jessie into the churchyard. She tried to outrun whoever was chasing her. It could’ve been the Grim Reaper for all she knew.

The sunshine was dazzling, yet she didn’t have to shield her eyes or wish for her favourite sunglasses. An abundance of iceberg roses grew in a horseshoe-shaped garden bed, but she couldn’t smell a damned thing.

She sank to her knees on dewy green grass and wept.

After a while, a featherweight touch landed on her trembling hand.

“I’m here for you, Jess,” Will said, his eyes serious but kind.

Her vision blurred as she gazed up at him. “After what I did to you, why would you stick around?”

“What did you do?”

“I killed you.” The words caught in her throat. She choked and started sobbing again. “I’m so sorry.”

“Did you hear what I said earlier? There’s nothing to forgive. It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it matters. You had a life to live.”

“That’s right. Had. Past tense.” He sat down and forced her to face him. “What do you remember about that night?”

Jessie squeezed her eyelids shut. Fragmented, sickening images flashed in her mind. “I don’t want to remember.”

“I know what you’re thinking, but it was not your fault.”

She scoffed. “Of course it was. Who was driving? Me. Who lost control? Me.”

“You didn’t lose control,” he insisted.

“Who died and made you coroner?”

“Me. I was there.” He pointed at the church’s stained-glass windows. They enlarged and grew brighter by the second. “I’ll show you what happened.”

The pastoral depictions in the glass shimmered and swirled. Gradually, they transformed into a highway setting. Jessie saw herself driving her silver convertible at night, and Will grinning in the passenger seat.

Wincing, she said, “I don’t have to see the rest. I know the ending to this horror movie.”

“You don’t know the whole plot,” Will insisted.

Jessie blinked. Suddenly, she was in the car. She gripped the steering wheel and floored the accelerator pedal. Huey Lewis and the News blared from the speakers.

Next to her, Will craned his neck and tried to video the dashboard with his phone. “Have we hit eighty-eight yet?”

Their friend Jonno was a massive Back to the Future fan. He had dared them to drive up to eighty-eight miles per hour to see if they’d be catapulted to the year 1955, just like in the movie.

But because Jessie valued her life – and Will’s – she decided to stay metric and drive at eighty-eight kilometres per hour, far slower than the speed Jonno dictated. What he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. Besides, the speed limit was ninety.

“Almost! Almost!” she yelled, briefly flicking her gaze to the speedo. She’d travelled this stretch hundreds of times before. “Eighty-eight! Whoo-hoo! We did it. We’ve gone back to the future!”

Jessie slowed down to sixty to obey the road signs. The tunnel ahead of them was narrow and had a sketchy curve.

“Can you imagine going back in time?” Will asked, turning off the music. “I can’t get my head around it.”

“It’d be a trip, alright.” Jessie focused on the two-lane road as she navigated the curve. The narrow tunnel felt suffocating. A pair of halogen lights danced in the opposite direction, maybe a hundred metres away. “Is it me, or is that car all over the place?”

“Yeah, be careful. They’re coming up fast.”

The driver couldn’t seem to steer their car in a straight line. Jessie’s heart thudded hard. She threw a panicked glance at Will.

He braced himself against the dash, his eyes wide with fright. “Jessie…”

With nowhere to go, she slammed on the brakes. The other car swerved into their lane, its headlights turning the world white.

But before metal crunched on metal and broken glass showered the tunnel, Jessie blacked out. By some quirk of nature, she was spared the pain of the impact.

When she opened her eyes again, she was back in the churchyard with Will. His gaze was soft. She felt lighter, calmer.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he said, taking her hand. Remarkably, felt warmth in his palm. Maybe even his life force. “The other driver was drunk. Pretty much drank a brewery’s worth of beer and got in his car.”

“And drove straight into us.” Her lips twisted. Glancing around, she asked, “Where is he now?”

“On remand.” Will looked away. “I’ve seen his future. He’ll have to face up to some things. But that’s not for us to worry about now.”

Jessie gazed at the sandstone church. It looked out of focus, as if a chiffon curtain separated her from the terrestrial world. She could no longer hear music or voices. Not even the peal of a bell from the steeple.

The hydrangea pony ambled out of the church. With every hoofbeat, a flower head fell off, revealing a gleaming, silvery coat. A luxuriant white tail swished from side to side.

“Um, are you seeing what I’m seeing?”

Will’s nose wrinkled. “No. What?”

“You can’t see that horse coming our way?”

“I was kidding. Of course I see it.” Will sniffed comically. “I smell it too.”

The horse made a beeline for Jessie and nudged her with its long, velvety nose. “Do you think it’s trying to tell me something?”

Gramma June – the older version of her – materialised alongside the horse. “You remember, don’t you, Jessie? This is the pony you learned to ride on when you were six. Sinbad here started your lifelong love affair with horses.”

“Oh, my God. Yes! Hey, Sinbad. You did not live up to your name.” Jessie laughed. “So do we ride off into the sunset now or what?”

Will squeezed her hand. “We can do anything we want. Life, and death, is what you make it.”

***